UnPoetia:The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

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act not like hatreds vessel?
 
act not like hatreds vessel?
   
Or something
+
Or something.
   
   
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Yep, ran out of ideas
 
Yep, ran out of ideas
  +
  +
Check please.
   
   
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just as we do not know
 
just as we do not know
   
Achille's shoe size
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Achilles's shoe size
   
   
   
   
And so the lore of the ancient cartrographers
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And so the lore of the ancient cartographers
   
 
And the oceans of water
 
And the oceans of water
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...anymore...
 
...anymore...
   
Do I ask?
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Do I ask? Dare I ask?
  +
  +
Are you listening?
   
   
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the fairest Maiden I've talked to today
 
the fairest Maiden I've talked to today
   
and she recipricates, interlocation! Locution!
+
and she reciprocates, interlocation! Locution!
   
 
And yet
 
And yet
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Epsilium and me,
 
Epsilium and me,
   
Told the Spirits of our Earthian declarations
+
Told the Spirits of our Terran declarations
   
 
and exculpations
 
and exculpations
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Am I on crack, indeed
+
Am I on crack, indeed.
  +
  +
  +
  +
I walk down past the Denny's near the exit ramp
  +
  +
and camp
  +
  +
Near the box that dispenses ''USA Today''
  +
  +
Waiting for breakfast.
  +
  +
  +
Nearby, the overpass
  +
  +
I hear the homeless people yelling "fuck"
   
  +
And the honking of the trucks.
   
   
  +
I do not think they honk for me.
   
   
  +
Out past the broken ages gone
   
  +
I see the people in the check-in line
   
  +
["Why's that guy looking at us, Mommy?"]
   
  +
I see them checking luggage, time and time
   
  +
["That's just a drunk poet, dear"]
   
   
  +
I see the waves crash against the filing cabinets
   
  +
I've had a lot of work to do of late
   
Who's J. Alfred Prufrock anyway?
+
Until the to-do's drown me, and I wake.

Latest revision as of 01:34, November 29, 2008

Unpoetia logo Poetry for people who hate poetry

edit The Poem

Let us go then, you and me

Into the Cartesian air

The limited domains of history lie

like a black, caustic drain

like the black, caustic drain

in my shower; clean it!

Like I clean my soul.

With stuff under the sink.

Windex doesn't work,

on shower drains...

Or the drains of human souls

Whatever those are.


And so I ask

With due recourse

Are the Rich waves of Euclidean planes

are as Dixie Cups are to me

useless only in their capacity for witholding liquid

from the docile domains of the floor?

and I, with my Dixie Cup in hand

dearly wish for more tea

because these things

only hold like a few ounces

And so I wait

for another cup


Oh Cousteau!

Doth loves vassal

act not like hatreds vessel?

Or something.


Like the dreamiest of dreams

and the misteast of dreams

I do rhyme a word with itself

Probably ran out of ideas

Like I ran out of love

Yep, ran out of ideas

Check please.


And so, again, she passes by

Out the window I see her fall

fall through the cold, dark sky

She probably fell from the balcony up above

Drunk off her ass, like always

Drunk off her ass, on love


And still, I extricate

from Vesuvian remains

the druggiest of my million thoughts

My words are the words of a poet

because I am writing poetry

Doth! What does doth mean?

Perhaps we'll never know.

Perhaps we'll not know

just as we do not know

Achilles's shoe size



And so the lore of the ancient cartographers

And the oceans of water

are somewhat similar

I guess



And this...is clear

Punctuation!...Doth!...

I don't even

know what the fuck I'm talking...about...anymore

...anymore...

Do I ask? Dare I ask?

Are you listening?


A bear attacked me once

Only that bear was 'Love'

And I was a bear.

And me and that bear

were like Romeo

with a time machine

going back in time with Juliet

to have a threesome with Cleopatra

on the banks of the river Styx

"Come Sail Away With Me" indeed


But still, the people around me are

like Romans, asking questions

like "Isn't that illegal?"

and "Have you seen a doctor about that?"

But I never go to meet him

Because perhaps we'll meet,

in the Hallowed Halls of Valhalla

or the rich domains of Elysium

And when I tell the inquiring Latinians this

they look at me,

like I'm strange



Doth! As my friend

my dearest and only friend

wander out of the drudgery of another daily

day, we try to foresee things

but we're really not good at foreseeing things

We're so much better at playing pool


I talk to this Maiden--

the fairest Maiden I've talked to today

and she reciprocates, interlocation! Locution!

And yet

even I don't know what those words mean...

Maybe some day...

I'll punctuate properly--


...


Not yet--


....


["Nope"]


And then, when in the darkness of the night

under Luna's piquant lights

Epsilium and I

meet the Spirits of Netherworld

And the spirits of the world take me

and drown me


Not really, I just made that last part up.

The spirits and we,

Epsilium and me,

Told the Spirits of our Terran declarations

and exculpations

and venerations

and adulations

and trepidations


And the Spirits, thoughtfully,

always thoughtfully,

Said, with a Martian indefatigability,

"Are you on crack?"


Am I on crack, indeed.


I walk down past the Denny's near the exit ramp

and camp

Near the box that dispenses USA Today

Waiting for breakfast.


Nearby, the overpass

I hear the homeless people yelling "fuck"

And the honking of the trucks.


I do not think they honk for me.


Out past the broken ages gone

I see the people in the check-in line

["Why's that guy looking at us, Mommy?"]

I see them checking luggage, time and time

["That's just a drunk poet, dear"]


I see the waves crash against the filing cabinets

I've had a lot of work to do of late

Until the to-do's drown me, and I wake.

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